


Team Free Will 2.0 vs The End 2.0

by vipjuly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, M/M, Post-Season/Series 14, Pre-Season/Series 15, Team Free Will 2.0 (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 20:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20533919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: Dean's seen The End once before.The difference is that this time when the fingers snap, he has his family by his side.





	Team Free Will 2.0 vs The End 2.0

**Author's Note:**

> If only this is how they'd start season 15.  
My 50th Supernatural fic. Thank you for all your love and support.

It is The End all over again.

The future that Dean had worked so hard to resist is unfolding right before his eyes in ways worse than constructed by that bag of dicks Zachariah. Croats, zombies, monsters. You name it, it's out prowling the earth. Getting out of that graveyard had been nearly impossible, especially with Cas insisting they take Jack's body with them, but as soon as they'd hunkered down and found refuge, the weight of the world settled on their shoulders. 

Finding an abandoned cabin seemed pretty stereotypically up their alley. Holing up inside, barricading themselves physically as well as with wards drawn in blood was the same old milk run. Keeping quiet until the sun rose wasn't difficult. 

The issue with waiting for the sun to rise, however, is that when it doesn't… things don't tend to bode well.

What rises the next day could be the sun, but it's impossible to tell. The world is grey and dreary and as Dean peeks through a knot hole in one of the two-by-fours covering a window he's hit with nostalgia for a place he sometimes craves but rarely misses. 

It's as if Chuck unleashed Purgatory on the living world. 

They haven't lit a fire. Sam and Castiel are huddled close, holding Jack's body between them. No one has said a word since leaving the cemetery. Everyone has been operating on autopilot, survival mode, relying on base instincts and their innate ability to work together under strenuous circumstances. Now that the world is, seemingly, quiet, Dean turns to take in the situation. They're all filthy with blood dirt and grime, clothes torn, lips eyes and knuckles swollen. They're exhausted. Tapped out.

Old.

Dean leans heavily against the wall of the cabin, swiping his hand over his mouth. The little laugh that bubbles out gets stifled by his palm, his throat clearing to chase it away. But then another chuckle comes, and another… and then he's sinking down to the floor, laughing hysterically. Sam and Castiel look at him in alarm; Sam's face screws up in confusion, Cas looks dumbfounded, and Dean lies out on his side, covering his mouth to try and keep quiet, well aware that anything lurking outside might be able to hear him.

After a few moments his laughter subsides, tears tracking trails through the grime on his face. Rolling onto his stomach he folds his arm and pillows his forehead on them, trying to regain his breathing. Sam and Cas are quiet.

Finally, Sam speaks. "Dean?"

It sparks another round of laughter. Dean covers his mouth again, rolls on his back, and flops his hand towards Sam and Cas and the grim image of Jack's corpse between them. "Look at us."

Castiel's eyes narrow. 

"Three men and a dead baby," Dean whuffs out against his palms.

"That's not funny," Castiel says testily. 

"Ah, shit," Dean huffs, still grinning against his hands. He'd forgotten that he and Castiel were in the midst of a spat before all this went down. It all seems so insignificant, now. "M'sorry." Dean rolls onto his side, wiping his eyes but unable to look at Sam and Cas, too sure he'll erupt in inappropriate laughter again. "M'sorry, Cas."

When he's finally calm enough to open his eyes, it's to the familiarly annoying sight of Sam and Castiel exchanged worried glances over Jack's still-fluffy hair. Groaning, Dean forces his exhausted body to sit up, digs the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, and leans back against a decrepit armchair. 

"We're too fuckin' old for this," Dean says by way of explanation. 

"That's what you're laughing about?" Sam asks. Given the circumstances it's admirable that he can muster up Bitchface #82. A classic.

"I said I'm sorry, jeez," Dean says.

Castiel turns his gaze down towards Jack. Sam finally stands up, and they go back to silence. Sighing, Dean closes his eyes and listens to the sound of Sam rooting through the cupboards. They stay silent for a long while. There's a small generator and a wood stove - both would attract attention if used, so they eat the canned chili Sam found cold. It's disgusting, but they need it. Cell service is completely gone, and the CB radio Dean finds is nothing but static. 

Castiel doesn't leave Jack's side. 

They stay hunkered down for two days, which coincidentally is how long it takes to run out of edible food. It's also enough time for Dean to scout out a vehicle (and in sparking it to life he sends a thought out to Baby, hoping they'll be able to get her back) and get them all moving. 

They stay at the cabin one more pseudo-night. It's like summer in the arctic; the sun sets, but it never gets totally dark.

Castiel refuses to burn Jack's body.

Jack wakes up on the third day, gasping for breath, scrabbling at his eyes. Castiel takes off his tie to wrap it around Jack's head, shielding the burnt holes from them and himself. There should be relief palpable between them when he comes back from the dead, but even Castiel seems concerned. Jack, confused and disoriented, seems nonplussed about his vision loss… well, the loss of his eyes in general, instead insisting that he is happy to be alive and is willing to help in whatever way possible.

The benefits of being a nephilim never seem to end, as Jack adjusts quickly, using his extra senses to navigate as though he hasn't lost his sight at all. On the road they pick up a pair of sunglasses (he chooses white, and when Dean says they're "fratboy douchey" Cas just sends him A Look, reminding Dean that Jack can't see the style or color of sunglasses he chose. Woops.) and make their way down the interstate. Sam is sure the bunker will still be in one piece. Dean isn't so sure.

Castiel sticks to Jack's side like glue.

Dean says about a billion Jesus jokes in his head but doesn't utter a word.

They make it to the bunker in a few days, driving in shifts to go straight through and avoid pulling over for too long, except to top off the gas tank. Jerry-rigging the pumps is probably a disaster waiting to happen but when there's no clerk to take payment and press the magic button, you gotta do what you gotta do. The bunker looks as untouched as ever. The door opens easily for them and Dean lets out an embarrassingly relieved noise at the fact it still has power.

"Everyone needs a hot shower. Pronto." Dean announces. 

Sam sends him A Look.

"What?" Dean asks defensively. "We all reek. Covered in dirt and stuff I don't wanna think about. Bet there's still some good food in the cupboards we can heat up, too. So I say: we get our heads on right, and regroup."

There's muttered agreement. They all head towards the shower room and normally Dean would throw out some macho posturing, say they all gotta shower separately, but he's dog-tired and the only way for them all to stay awake and to keep going is to keep at it together. Showering is perfunctory. Cas helps Jack by handing him the right bottles when he needs them, the shower room getting steamed up and cloying with the scent of shampoo instead of monster blood. When they're all done they head their separate ways to dress, Dean pointedly ignoring the welcoming sight of his memory foam mattress as he heads out towards the library.

Sam's already there, looking like the walking dead where he's slumped in his chair. Jack and Cas join them a few moments later, and once everyone is seated, they all let out a collective breath.

"Fuck."

"Well."

"Ugh."

"So."

They all speak at once, sending each other surprised glances- Dean is the first to crack, again, falling into laughter and slouching in his chair so far his feet knock into Castiel's on the other side of the table. The rest, this time, follow up his laughter with chuckles of their own, and once the noise subsides, Dean wipes a hand over his face.

"This is it, guys. The End."

"Philosophical now, huh?" Sam asks with an amused grin.

"No," Castiel's head tilts as he regards Dean. "'The End' is what Dean refers to as the future Zachariah sent him to during the Apocalypse."

Those blue eyes were always too knowing. Dean feels fairly exposed, so he blusters, "Yeah, but this is The End 2.0. 'Cause this go around I got you knuckleheads with me."

"Like Team Free Will 2.0," Jack says cheerily. The edges of his burnt orbital bones are barely visible behind the wide frame of his sunglasses.

"Right, kiddo," Dean says with a grin.

"You never really told me what you saw, then," Sam says curiously. "I mean, aside from the fact Lucifer was wearing me to the prom and toilet paper seemed to be going extinct."

Dean sends shifty eyes around the table. Hell, he's barely talked to himself about what he'd seen. And this isn’t the first time the world started to end, but the difference between those ends and this ends is that Dean is just too friggin’ old for this shit.

“Was really fucked up,” Dean finally says, staring at the table. He picks idly at the smooth wood with a blunt fingernail. “_I_ was fucked up. Future me. Sent everyone on what he knew was a suicide mission. Killed ‘em all and Lucifer still won.” Dean’s eyes glance up towards Cas, whose features are soft as they regard him. “Probably the worst thing,” Dean addresses Castiel directly, “was how future me treated you. Like he could give a shit about whether you lived or died, when in the end he didn’t. In all the shit that was goin’ on, you… future you,” Dean’s eyes drop to where his finger is tapping idly at the table. “You figured out how to cope. Without me. Uh, him.” 

Sam and Jack stay quiet, sensing a Moment happening. Castiel holds Dean’s gaze and then reaches out, gently laying his palm over the back of Dean’s hand, halting its fidgeting. 

“That future didn’t happen, Dean. And it won’t.” 

Tension bleeds from Dean’s body at the minor physical contact. “Well, yeah. M’not gonna treat you like garbage.”

Something flashes in Castiel’s eyes, reminding Dean of those horrid words he’d uttered just last week. Turning his hand over in the angel’s, Dean sits up straighter in his chair, attempting to lean over the table a bit as his eyes search Castiel’s. 

“I’m sorry. And I mean it. I took you for granted, again, and I fucked up. We were all doin’ what we could to survive,” his eyes flash over to Jack momentarily, before he barrels on. “I ain’t proud of a lot of things but… I’m damn fuckin’ glad that we’re all together, right here, right now.” He glances around the table. “Every one of us.” 

In the silence that follows, Dean forgets he’s holding Castiel’s hand until Jack leans forward, placing his hand over theirs. Blinking in surprise, Dean’s eyes widen further when Sam’s hand lays atop Jack’s, and damn it he’s not blinking away tears as he looks at them.

“Us too, Dean.” Sam says, his eyes bright with determination and filled with the lifelong love only a brother can have.

Dean figures if Jack still had eyes they’d be shining too. 

Ignoring the way his hand is getting clammy with sweat with all the dude-love piled atop it, Dean flashes everyone a smile.

“How ‘bout we kick it in the ass, one last time?”

“Go big or go home,” Sam says with a nod.

“Or die,” Jack supplies helpfully.

“Together,” Castiel says. 

“Team Free Will 2.0,” Dean says, smile growing. “Versus The End 2.0”


End file.
